


Sphallolalia

by myn_x



Series: tumblr requests [9]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 17:17:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9451976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myn_x/pseuds/myn_x
Summary: sphallolaliaNoun(uncountable)Flirtatious talk that leads nowhere.OriginFrom the Ancient Greekσφάλλω(sphallō, “to stumble”) andλαλιά(lalia, “talking”).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> for @kaguneko on tumblr, who requested OiSuga and Sphallolalia from [this](http://ohmykokuroo.tumblr.com/post/153291464061/send-me-ship-a-word-and-i-will-write-a-drabble) list!

It’s a Tuesday, and his sweater is maroon and soft-looking, and Tooru doesn’t know his name. He does know he eats lunch at this cafe every day at roughly the same time as him, and that he sits in the same corner with a book propped open as he sips his tea and nibbles at his lunch. 

The only things that change are the day and the color of his sweater. 

Tooru suspects he has significant amount of closet space dedicated to just sweaters. Mixed prints, the floral pullover, striped turtlenecks, the obligatory black hoodie. But it’s today’s maroon that’s his favorite. It’s the one that hangs a little loose on his shoulders, with sleeves that almost reach his fingertips. 

The first day Tooru noticed him, they’d been on opposite sides of the cafe. As soon as he’d stepped inside, his eyes had caught on scarlet fabric and silver hair edged in sunlight gold -- a religious icon dipped in wine. Noon’s rays filtered through the gaps in the woven blinds and illuminated the young man, who was tucked in the back corner of the cafe with a fairly dense book.  

And it was absolute sacrilege. Bleary-eyed and head spinning with numbers that refused to balance themselves, Tooru was further perplexed by the irony, the cosmic injustice; such an unearthly being should not have been occupying space on earth, and in a dingy little hole-in-the-wall at that. He looked like he belonged in a city of gold. 

Tooru had blinked a few times to refocus. He was letting the numbers get to his head. His accounting job had that effect on him sometimes. Or it might have been the man’s pensive expression, the way his slender fingers held his book like a lover.

By now, Tooru is tired of not knowing his name. He’s been picking seats closer to the corner, trying to muster the nerve to speak instead of look. Which has never been a problem before. Oikawa Tooru is not shy until he sees the face of an angel.  

His plan is simple. Sit at the counter, wait until he brushes past to leave the cafe, catch his sleeve at the right moment. Apologize for his forwardness. Coax out a name and number. He knows he’ll have to flirt this time (it’s usually not necessary, and he’s used to being fawned over) because looks alone won’t win this one over -- he can tell. 

Except a wind carries through the door as a mother walks in, child in tow. Suddenly Tooru’s printed spreadsheets are drifting off the counter, slow in their sweeping descent as the breeze wends its way inside. He twists to capture them but it’s as if they purposefully dodge his grasp, and then he’s face to chest with someone, the cup in his hand tipped and pouring down the front of their maroon sweater. He balks, flushing a shade of red not unlike the fabric he just spilled tea all over. 

They’re both frozen, like the space they occupy in the cafe exists on another plane. People are still holding conversations around them, and the employees shift behind the counter like clockwork to the sound of clinking dishes and some bubbly pop song. 

Tooru doesn’t say anything, he just presses his lips into a firm line even though he knows an apology is due, stepping away from the other with his head bowed. 

Then, “How… how clumsy of me,” Tooru murmurs. “That was not a part of the plan.”

“Plan?” 

It occurs to Tooru that this person should be at least a little ticked that he’s dripping green tea, but, if anything, he sounds the opposite. There’s a lilt to his question, as if he’s on the verge of a laugh. Tooru finally looks at him, and finds olive eyes filled with amusement. His face is soft and open where Tooru was expecting hard lines and impatience. 

Tooru is good at math but none of this adds up. If he were in the other’s place, a sentient wet tea bag in the middle of his favorite cafe, he surely wouldn’t be fighting to hide a smile like that. 

“Hmm. Yes, but now I’ve gone and ruined it, haven’t I?” Tooru smiles wryly, a hand on the back of his neck. He holds the tea cup loosely in his other hand, stray drops finding their way to the floor. “I suppose I owe you an apology…?”

“Suga. Sugawara Koushi.” 

It’s a Tuesday, and his sweater is maroon and soaked with tea, but Tooru knows his name. It shakes him a bit, how easy this turned out to be. He holds his gaze as he sets the empty tea cup on the counter. 

“Oikawa Tooru. Let me, um, get you some tissue?” Tooru doesn’t mean for it to sound like a question, but Suga seems to understand that he’s really asking him not to leave.

He moves to take Tooru’s place at the counter, keeping his arms away from his wet midriff. “Sure, I’ll wait here.”

While Suga settles, leaning back on his elbows so that anyone who looks will see the tea-darkened blotch, Tooru scrambles to get something to soak up the mess. The tissue is papery and largely ineffective, but Suga just laughs. He’s still damp but he’s laughing at the ridiculous futility of it all, and Tooru would laugh too but he can’t help but stare. Suga’s lips are turned up into a bright dimpled smile, and it’s unfair, really, this effect he has, like he makes the world around him more beautiful by just existing. 

“Ahh, would you overlook the irony of me asking you to stay a bit longer and have another cup of tea, on me?” Tooru blurts, somehow managing to get the words out without faltering. The back of his neck is burning, and the flush threatens to overtake his cheeks again, and this might be the only time Tooru’s ever felt afraid of being turned down.

Before he has time to let his doubts settle, Suga quips, “I’d have left already if I wasn’t expecting you to.” 

He punctuates his words with a wink, and Tooru’s glad he’s resting an arm on the counter because he isn’t just a little weak in the knees.

Suga claims a stool at the counter, and Tooru releases a deep nervous breath and feels confidence take its place, a warmth settling in his bones. Banter, he can do banter. He grabs the stool beside him, pulling it close enough that when he sits, his knee brushes Suga’s thigh. 

“Expectations, already?” The words roll off Tooru’s tongue, almost a purr. He’s leaning in toward Suga, chin propped on his hand. 

“You spilled tea all over my favorite sweater -- of course I’d expect some sort of reparation,” Suga says with a quiet chuckle. In a fake whisper, he adds, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume you did it on purpose, grand master plan and all.”

Tooru snorts. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“I would ask you if you come here often but…” Suga lets his unfinished sentence talk for him, and Tooru’s blanches, recovering just enough to order two cups of tea and avoid responding. 

Suga continues, “I have eyes, too, and I’d be a fool to not notice how you’ve been watching me, Oikawa Tooru.”

“To be fair, though, ‘watching’ is a strong word.” Tooru is embarrassed but not surprised to know his staring has been of the unabashed variety, but he sees an in and takes it. “I’d say ‘casually observing’ or ‘gazing with wonder,’ but I mean, I just don’t know. It could be both. Or neither.”

That gets a little laugh out of Suga, and there’s a swooping feeling in Tooru’s chest. A rush of happiness. 

“I was starting to wonder if you were a little crazy.” 

Tooru can tell from the glint in his eyes and his easy smile that Suga is teasing. He bumps his knee against Suga’s. “People do crazy things all the time. For love. Or religion, even.”

“Religion?”

“How else do you expect me to act in front of an angel?” 

It’s Suga’s turn to blush. He has the audacity to try to hide his smile behind his hand, and Tooru feels himself break apart at the edges. 

“You escaped heaven, though. You didn’t fall. You’re too pretty to have fallen.” Tooru hopes he’s getting under Suga’s skin as much as he’s sunk under his. “Then again, the devil was the most beautiful angel, right?”

Suga nods, laughing fully. He bends forward, both hands on his face now, but they don’t prevent his giggles from escaping through the gaps between his fingers.

Tooru laughs too, enamored with the way Suga has suddenly become shy, but then he clears his throat. He takes on a mock-serious tone, like he’s presenting some bogus numbers to his boss. “I have a… proposition for you, Suga.”

Suga peeks from between his fingers. “Oh?”

“I wager I’m the better flirt.”

“What are you betting? Or losing, rather.” Suga drops his hands to his lap and raises a brow, a challenge in his eyes. 

“I win, I walk away with your number.”

“And if I win?” Suga doesn’t need to say “when” instead of “if” -- Tooru can _hear_ it in the slight curl of Suga's lip.

“I don’t know,” Tooru says, and he doesn’t know. “Whatever you’d like.”

“Then I’ll save it for when I win. It’ll be a surprise.”

Tooru is glad to make Suga eat his words; the blush he coaxes to his cheeks with pretty words and compliments is nearly deep enough to match his sweater. He’s sure, so sure that he’s won because he has Suga so flustered that he can’t even flirt back. It’s awfully, terribly cute; his hands are back on his face but the tips of his ears give him away, and Tooru wants to brush his silver hair back and kiss them redder. He wonders if Suga would burst into flames if he did. 

But then Suga looks up, and he’s got this dark look in his eyes, like he’s hungry but what needs isn’t  _ food _ but rather Tooru, and Tooru feels a chill dance down his spine and his heart rouse to a gallop and then Suga’s leaning forward, cheeks still burning, he’s in Tooru’s space but Tooru doesn’t mind, it’s quite the opposite really, but then he feels a hand on his thigh and he stills, breath hitching when Suga moves past his cheek, his lips tickling the baby hairs at his nape. 

Suga's hand slides up as the words curl in Oikawa's ear, and he’s acutely aware of Suga’s breath against his neck. “I win because I can win without words.”

Tooru’s blush is instantaneous, he feels it from the top of his head down to his toes, and he’s too busy not thinking to realize he lost from the moment he’d doused Suga’s sweater with tea.   


Suga leans back but doesn’t remove his hand, his cheeks still pink and a knowing grin lighting his face. Tooru’s still frozen, but his body is hot, and his skin is searing where Suga’s fingers are latched to his thigh. He’s being pulled apart, and can’t and won’t do anything to stop it. 

Suga lowers his voice, the wicked glint back in his eyes. “Are you going to yield or not, Tooru?”

Tooru nods, swallowing to make the words unstuck. He could laugh; less than five minutes ago he had rendered Suga speechless with flattery. And yet Suga had pinned him down with just a touch, strumming his body to his liking like it was nothing. 

He tries clearing his throat and manages to squeak out an indignant, “Touching is against the rules!”

“What rules?” Suga feigns innocence, cocking his head to the side. 

Tooru is convinced that Suga is the devil incarnate -- to hell with angels -- but he really wouldn’t mind an eternity in hell at this point, not with Suga kneading his thigh like that. 

“I… I yield. So what’s the surprise? An actual date?” Tooru can’t keep the intent out of his voice. 

“It’s nothing.” Suga’s smile is so so sweet. Tooru wants to taste it. 

They’re both quiet for a moment, and then Tooru’s mouth falls open. “Eh?” 

“It was just a game, right?” Suga moves his hand then, brushing back his hair. It catches in the afternoon light, like a false halo. “See you tomorrow?”

“I, uh, sure?” Tooru is a little confused and a lot turned on. He’s rooted to the spot, as if the ghost of a hand on his thigh is keeping him in place. 

Suga gets up and weaves between tables, and Tooru watches as he goes. 

Tooru has a name but no number. He pays for two cold cups of tea, a wry smile tugging at his lips. Tomorrow, then. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flirtation does lead somewhere, to the library of all places. What happens next will shock you. (Not really).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating will change to E when the last chapter goes up :3c

The day after the tea debacle is as anticlimactic as Tooru could have hoped, had he not been looking forward to it.

Suga doesn’t even look his way, all of his focus directed at the thick book in his hands, which is different from yesterday’s, as is his sweater. It’s pastel pink, and Tooru won’t admit that it complements his fair skin in unfair ways.  

Tooru simmers in his emotions -- disappointment, yearning, irritation -- but he’s not willing to do anything to change it. He won’t get up from his chair and he won’t be the one to initiate conversation, Suga’s obvious expectations be damned.  

The next day is much the same, but Tooru makes a deliberate effort to look everywhere but at Suga. Another game in which the latter has him beat.

Having grown used to the pretty view, every minute of his lunch is self-inflicted torture. Tooru’s eyes gravitate toward the devil-angel every so often, stopping just short of a silvery fringe of hair or the pattern of his sweater.

But if he looks directly at Suga, whose eyes remain glued to his book with enviable ease (it can’t be _that_ enthralling _,_ Tooru huffs to himself, compared to _me_ ), he might as well admit that he’s got himself wrapped around one of the fingers Suga likes to torment him with.   

Based on the taste he got of Suga’s fiendishness, he has a feeling that Suga wants to rile him up, and when he looks up to find Suga’s eyes already settled on him, coy smile in place, his intuition is confirmed.

Tooru only glares back, beginning a standoff that they carry over into the following week.

It’s the same every day: Suga peeks over the tops of his books while Tooru pouts, neither of them making a move aside from head tilts and fluttered lashes and arched brows and the occasional lewd gesture. Suga leaves first, to go back to work or home or wherever, and Tooru drinks the rest of his cold, forgotten tea before following suit.

Suga is more sparing in the confident, half-lidded glances he throws Tooru’s way for the sole purpose of reminding Tooru that he likes to play dirty. When he stretches and the hem of his sweater rides up, bottom lip caught between his teeth, gaze fixed on Tooru, the accountant nearly chokes.

Their eye-fucking battles go unnoticed by the rest of the cafe; Tooru is the picture of over-exhaustion and glazed-over eyes, and Suga’s corner is conveniently hidden to nearly everyone except those who sit in Tooru’s chosen spot.

Tooru still doesn’t understand Suga’s impudicity; to anyone _really_ looking, the index finger he dips into the frosting of his dessert and sucks into his mouth is a clear invitation. He catches Tooru’s eye with the look of an incubus as his mouth closes around his finger in a little pink ‘o,’ pulling until the tip is cushioned against his plush bottom lip.

Suga seems to enjoy putting on a show, and his attempts to unravel his lonely audience are somewhere in between cliché and insanity, or more probably some bizarre mixture of both. The image of Suga deepthroating a banana -- a _banana_ , for fuck’s sake -- of him sliding it out to take an innocent bite from the tip, was imprinted on Tooru’s mind like a brand for days. The flick of Suga’s tongue was something straight out of a wet dream, so overtly beyond the realm of normalcy that Tooru couldn’t quite believe that he was sitting in a nice little cafe when it happened.

How he’d like to taste the sly curve of those lips, and feel that sharp tongue slide hot and wet over his skin.

Tooru was so stiff he couldn’t leave to go back to work. He was late. 

 

***

 

Friday afternoons are busy, and Tooru is unlucky. The only seat available is the stool he sat on while flirting with Suga over a week ago.

Not only is it closer to Suga’s niche (with his glasses on, Tooru can make out the title of today’s volume: _Paradise Lost_ ), but it’s also adjacent to the only clear path to the door, and since Suga always leaves first…

Fuck.

Facing forward, Tooru can barely see Suga in his peripheral vision. Tooru drums his fingers on his cheek -- he’s bored without the distraction of those smirks and suggestive looks.

He turns his head and finds the corner empty, then swivels the stool just in time to catch Suga wink at him, book wedged under his arm as he walks past him toward the exit.

It happens so fast that Tooru’s flush doesn’t color his cheeks until Suga is already gone.

 

***

 

Suga left early enough that he didn’t give Tooru enough time to let his tea cool, so it’s still hot enough that he can’t take more than a few sips. His whole body is warm, and the cafe is stifling. He pushes away from the counter after paying and leaving a tip.

It’s overcast out, and Tooru muses that he should have brought an umbrella, but at least now he can breathe.

He walks aimlessly -- he doesn’t have to be back at the office for another 45 minutes -- following the sidewalk where it leads him. He’d never had a reason to walk past the cafe, so he finds little trinket stores and produce stands, and then there’s a leafy alcove, and in it is a sign that points farther down: “Library.”

Tooru turns up his nose. It reminds him of Suga, sucking on a finger as his eyes skim the pages of his book. Which is _not_ why he decides to keep walking.

 

***

 

Cool air brushes Tooru’s cheeks as he nudges the door open. He shudders, but it’s far better than being so hot he can’t think.

Tooru doesn’t have a particular goal in mind in coming to the library -- he figures he’ll just browse the rows of books and pick something at random, or nothing at all.

He chooses the closest aisle and peruses the titles to his left and right, nothing catching his eye. He’s half-assing it, he knows, but he’s just wasting time. His eyes travel from spine to spine, some thick like the ones Suga brings to the cafe, some so thin the others seem to dwarf them.

Rounding the corner, he starts on the next aisle, then he gets to the third. He fists his hands in the pockets of his slacks, a wrinkle between his brows. He’s frustrated. Not that he can’t find a book, but more because he realizes he’d begun to look forward to his silent, mostly one-sided conversations with Suga. Books aside -- he’s really here to think, and to work off this restless energy -- he enjoys their little showdowns, even though they piss him off (because they turn him on).

He’s so distracted by his own thoughts (he remembers the day Suga licked his lips, for no discernible reason other than to provoke Tooru, as he dragged his fingers over his thighs, hips shifting suggestively; the proof was in the heated look in his eyes, and in the slow drag of his tongue from corner to corner of his mouth) that he doesn’t realize someone else is in the next aisle. He manages to look away from the shelves to stop just short of an employee with a cart full of books.

An employee he knows. Of course. Of _course_.

 

“You just love running into me, don’t you?”

Tooru wants to smack (or kiss, more likely) the look of satisfaction from Suga’s face. Replace it with something more open, and blissed-out. “And you’re done playing games, I take it?” He retorts.

“Never,” Suga says, smiling. He turns to tuck the book he’s holding between two others, and picks up another one from the cart without looking. “What brings you here?”

“Oh. I, um. I’m looking for a book.” Tooru realizes Suga must really love books, to both work where he’s surrounded by them and read on his free time at the cafe. He wonders if he reads at home, too, curled up on his couch or bundled up in his bed, hair dark and damp from the shower.

“I’d already assumed that, since this _is_ a library.” Suga turns to flash another smile at him, then runs his finger down the spine of a book on the cart. “Trying to set my literature on fire with just your mind, Oikawa?”

“I was just looking!” Tooru whisper-yells indignantly. He crosses his arms and holds his elbows to keep from fidgeting as Suga continues to restock the shelves.

“Your look was so intense I could only, ah, assume so.” Suga’s voice is strained; this book is above his reach, so he tiptoes, and it’s cute, but his sweater is exposing the curve of his back as he stretches to reach. “Did you have a particular… title in mind?”

It’s a little… extra, the way he’s bending. Surely angels don’t arch their backs like that, like the smooth curve of a taut bowstring. Not in a library, of all places. _But Suga is all devil_ , Tooru reminds himself.

This is the first time Tooru’s been alone with Suga. It’s as secluded as one can get in a public space, with nothing but the silence of books to witness their exchange. He should probably step closer and ask if he can help, or question why he doesn’t have a stepladder, but the closer he gets the easier it is to sink into thoughts of pushing clothes aside and…

Tooru clears his throat. “I forgot.” He’s nearly done for when Suga looks at him over his shoulder, his little pout adorably endearing, and Tooru does _not_ want to kiss him.

“Would you like a recommendation? Not to brag, but, I _do_ have fine taste.” Suga looks him up and down, and Tooru does not miss the way his gaze lingers below his belly.

(Tooru does want to kiss him. A lot.) He turns to the shelf behind him to continue his fruitless search, so that maybe he’ll want to ravage Suga’s lips a little less. “Is there something wrong with just looking?”

Suga chuckles, and its low and rumbly in his throat. Tooru hears soft footfalls and then Suga is behind him, arm reaching next to Tooru’s to replace the next book. “Why just look when you can do so much more?”

Tooru’s head is full of Suga and his summery scent, and of the look he gets in his eyes in the cafe, which is not unlike the look he’s giving him now. Then his eyes flutter shut and he’s leaning into Suga’s solidness and warmth, and Suga ghosts his breath across his cheek, his hand kneads at Tooru’s left hip, the other snaking over his right thigh, and it’s intimate, too intimate, and Tooru remembers that anyone could turn down this aisle and what if Suga got fired? He tries to pull away but Suga grabs his arm, turning him so that they’re facing each other, and then he leans in, tugging a little on Tooru’s shirt, and he’s expecting the kiss he wants and doesn’t want because it would be an outright admission of defeat.

Suga plucks his glasses from his face and, instead of pressing their lips together, he lets him go and inspects his prize before putting them on, pushing them up the bridge of his nose with an index finger.

Tooru’s protest dies in his throat -- it’s all entirely, unbearably adorable, especially the way Suga’s eyes seem bigger behind the lenses.

He has to squint a little now, but Tooru can’t find it in himself to be angry. He just _can’t_. (Above all else it’s not fair that Suga looks so much better in his glasses than he ever will, even on a good hair day.) “Now I can’t see!” he sulks. It’s a half-lie. Though his sight is far from perfect, he’s also far from blind.

Suga steps closer again; he’s near enough that round, hazel eyes, irises rimmed in gold -- a beauty mark he wants to brush his lips against -- take up Tooru’s entire field of vision.

Before he can speak again, Suga asks, “If you’re so interested in books, would you like to see the ones I’ve got at home?”

Tooru pauses, rolling words over his tongue. “Are you inviting me over, Suga?” he asks, cocking his head. “I came because it was my lunch break, but I should probably start making my way back to work. I don’t have time for… detours.”

He knows he’ll be late anyway, even if he leaves now -- he’s spent far too long in this quiet space between books. But he feels like a desperate fool. Dragging himself away would be almost painful. He wishes it were a Saturday instead. He’s never realized how much a single day can make a difference.  

“What a shame,” Suga says, tutting. “I made plans to leave early today.”

Work is suddenly no longer even remotely important to Tooru. He’s captivated, and would toss everything aside to feel the sway of those hips beneath his fingertips. He pins Suga down with his eyes. “Were these plans in place before I turned down this aisle?”

“As a matter of fact, they were not.” Suga doesn’t look away, twirling a lock of moonlight around his finger.

“Then what a shame indeed.”

They walk to the end of the aisle, Tooru bookless and Suga with his now-empty cart in tow. Tooru is reluctant to ask for his glasses; they emphasize the aura of sophistication that initially drew Tooru in, sly looks aside. And if Suga keeps them, he also has a reason to come back. A reason to come back, in exchange for giving himself a migraine at work. So many numbers.

Tooru heads to the exit, stopping short once he recognizes the faint beat of rain against the roof. He opens the door to gusts of wind and water, promptly closing it again. He checks his phone -- lunch has been done for ten minutes already -- and sighs.  

Then Suga is next to him; he has a raincoat thrown over his arm and an umbrella in his free hand. He’s smiling like he planned this himself. “I’m willing to wager that my place is closer than your job.”

Laughing under his breath, Tooru checks his phone again. There’s no point in fighting with the rain to get back to work and crunch numbers in soaked clothes. Especially if he’s already late. He nods. “How come you can just leave whenever?”

“I’ve been here long enough that I can leave early sometimes if i need to,” he explains. “Just gotta let whoever’s working circulation know.”

“Ah.” Tooru taps out a message to a co-worker he knows will cover for him. His fingers shake a little with anticipation. _Somethings come up, and i cant make it bacj today. Handle things for me?_

“What about your work?”

Tooru’s phone buzzes. “I made plans to leave early today,” he says with a smirk.  

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://ohmykokuroo.tumblr.com) || [other tumblr](http://zeppellii.tumblr.com) || [twitter](https://twitter.com/lovedeluxxxe)


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